https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions daily 0.75 2026-03-22 https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-2we32-nalhe-kswb8-c38ap-468tx monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/4b16dc9c-fa2b-482a-bf6c-21eb572424d6/small-done-wanted.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Stolen Kiss" – Available On SuperRare My first real kiss happened right against the front window of a restaurant. Everyone inside eating could see us. I was too young to know what I was doing, and it came so suddenly my mind didn’t even have time to catch up. I’d imagined kisses from movies. Effortless. This was the opposite: nervous, clumsy, teeth and noses colliding. We kept breaking apart because we couldn’t stop laughing, the sound muffled against each other’s mouths. Between the laughs, we played this quiet, ridiculous game. Mid-sentence one of us would lean in and steal the last word with a kiss. It felt silly in the best way, like we’d stumbled onto something private and entirely our own. Nothing was graceful about it, but that unguarded mess made it feel real. Afterward, I replayed the whole thing endlessly in my mind. A small secret we’d just uncovered together. Even now, years later, a kiss still feels stolen in the gentlest way. Unexpected, like a quiet gift. It might come mid-sentence, turning ordinary talk into something intimate. When lips meet and everything narrows to warmth and breath, nothing else is there. Each time brings that familiar soft tingle, a spark of childlike joy that lights up inside, no matter how old I get. That’s the feeling I wanted to hold onto in “Stolen Kiss” The title comes from the same quiet disbelief I still get. A moment so vivid it feels slightly unreal. To do it, I mixed abstract digital painting with photorealistic elements. Dreamlike brushstrokes dissolve into lifelike people, the way a kiss can feel both physical and a little unreal. Two bodies, but the feeling drifts somewhere closer to a dream. In the middle of smoke and rushing trains and wanted posters peeling from the walls, these two figures take a quiet moment together, simple and unguarded. Worth every clumsy risk. https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-2we32-nalhe-kswb8-c38ap monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/ec835235-878a-49a5-aed3-ddc0d66df38f/smaldesire.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Burning Desire" – Available On SuperRare She saw straight through the polished mask I’d spent years perfecting in the mirror - the careful, guarded version I sold to the world. And I saw her the same: the raw, unguarded self she kept locked behind quick subject changes and deliberate silences. Neither of us had any intention of letting someone in this deep after the wreckage of our pasts we’d survived. Our inner punk kept screaming don’t soften - a private rebellion that held the whole damn world at arm’s length. But those quiet nights rewrote the rules. Her eyes locked on mine and refused to let go. The old instinct to flinch kicked in… and I didn’t look away. She didn’t deflect when the questions cut personal. Every crack in our paper armor let in more light, and once the light touched those hidden places, there was no sealing them shut again. We were daring each other to stay - to let the paper armor catch fire and burn away until the real skin underneath finally showed itself unapologetic in the light. That’s exactly what this piece is about: the raw essence of a love that refuses compromise - an anarchic bond that liberates rather than confines. The lovers, bound in paper-mâché armor, ignite flames that peel away their defenses, revealing the vulnerable, authentic selves beneath. In that exposure, love becomes rebellion, stripping the masks worn to survive and laying bare what’s been hidden for so long. Their surreal, long tongues intertwined - a symbol of fears overcome and now fused in love. Scattered through the background, punk quotes and imagery echoed our mental landscape - the constant internal monologue that rejected our inner fear. Framing it all, the sunset with piercing rays turns what could feel harsh into something romantic in the punkest sense. If fear had won, we'd remain strangers to ourselves and each other. Never silence the inner punk - it’s the only path to the love that refuses to compromise. https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-2we32-nalhe-kswb8 monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/d842ba2b-c9d1-4b5f-a8f9-6e517277548f/smallcarnival1111.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Life Is A Carnival Ride" – Available On SuperRare Society could collapse tomorrow - aliens finally landing, lasers carving up the skyline - and I’d still be standing there, mid-shower, wondering: Did I soap both armpits, or did I just zone out again? Just like the main character in the art piece: blank stare, completely detached while the carnival erupts around her. We share the same permanent half-state: one foot sunk in daydream, the other dragging through whatever this reality pretends to be. Starting every morning already drowning in self-absorbed nonsense is exhausting. Maybe it’s not sparks of creativity. Maybe I’ve quietly gone crazy. (They say the truly insane never suspect a thing - so that’s comforting.) That same restless uncertainty in my mental state is mirrored in her tattoos: in the artwork, they come to life as animated figures acting out inner conflicts, turning static ink into a vivid symbol of how nothing inside the mind ever stays certain for long. I wake up already pissed off. Impressive, considering nothing’s happened yet. That alone should qualify as a talent. Step outside: same kid licking the same pole, different day, zero evolution. I see it. I’m not blind. I just don’t engage. Headphones on, no music - just silence as my only reliable force field against the rest of humanity. That same desperate armor shows up in her tattoos: the black flies swarm - decaying thoughts and intrusive ideas that have escaped her mind. No break from the brain. Ever. And just like my headphones try to block the world, “MOM” and “DAD” rise small from her arm ink, trying to protect her from the flies (bad thoughts). I move through life like this: weird shit everywhere, people losing their minds in slow motion, reality doing backflips in the background - yet the buzzing never lets up, so I retreat deeper into my private mental studio apartment with blank walls. A huge, stupid smile spreads across my face. Life’s a boxing match I never agreed to. (Shown by the red boxing tape on her gloves and the red marks scattered across her body—paint splatters... or blood?) I duck the punches from reality while everyone else lines up for the carnival ride like it’s the main event - welcome to the carnival nobody requested but everybody paid full price to enter. I stay in my own world with my rules. That’s how you don’t get sick: stop fighting the spin. Lean into it. Laugh when it jerks sideways, smile through the dizziness - because stopping isn’t an option. Life imitates art. And the carnival never closes. https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-2we32-nalhe monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/9efdde73-960a-4ebf-91d6-582d71e7bf25/smalll-finshed-voodoo.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Drugs, Prayers, and Distractions" – Available On SuperRare This work is a cracked mirror held up to the world I’m breathing in - the one where I’m standing on the edge of my own sanity, watching everyone else step cheerfully off the cliff ahead of me. The Matrix reality-versus-illusion argument is dead. Most people would rather stay blissfully plugged in. We’ve slipped into a full-blown Twilight Zone episode where the patients overpowered the orderlies and now the lunatics are running the asylum. My work isn’t speculating about some dystopian tomorrow. It’s the present, exactly as it hits - waiting for the next distraction, coping mechanism, or ritual to drip-feed a sense of purpose. Everyone looks stripped down and slightly feral to me, piecing together their mental health like a jigsaw puzzle missing half the pieces. They rummage through the spiritual flea market - black cats, shattered mirrors, vision boards, astrology apps - desperate for anything that feels like a cheat code to meaning. It isn’t faith. It’s panic-shopping for hope. This is why I created the figures dancing around the fire in symbolic ceremony. Each glowing symbol lifts into the dark like a prayer tossed upward with crossed fingers. When the spiritual mall closes for the night, the coping mechanisms take over. The main character smokes an opium pipe, releasing purple smoke that stands in for every form of escape. Drugs. Alcohol. Food. Netflix. Binge. Relax. All of it aimed at the same thing - softening the weight of staying conscious. None of it is joy. It’s just trying to survive another night without taking the full hit of being awake. Beyond the main character, the background moves into extremes. Protesters stand holding picket signs where blunt contradictions are left naked. Beneath a bleeding goat, two dolls drink its blood like communion wine. It’s my exaggerated artist statement of what the world looks like when fear overrides reason and belief hardens into obsession. Created through layered digital collage, photographic manipulation, AI generation, and meticulous lighting passes, this work confronts the seductive numbness of consumption culture, the commodification of pain and outrage, and the hollow prayers we offer just to make it through another day. Making the piece became its own coping mechanism - binging time inside the work from the moment I wake until I fall asleep, giving myself a pause, a breath in and out, a brief release from the noise. Decadent apathy wrapped in vibrant, unsettling beauty. https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-2we32 monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/edb08943-78e8-40ca-a47a-6f83f41ff915/not-broken.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Broken ≠ Worthless" – SOLD This is a raw, surreal anthem for the discarded - cracked souls, grieving hearts, and shattered objects the world calls worthless. It's a love letter to the overlooked, stitched with a simple truth: one person's trash is another's treasure. Through organized chaos, drenched in defiant beauty, it sings of resilience, radiant and real. My mother always said dogs were better than people, and she wasn't wrong. At the ice cream shop, she'd buy three cones: one for her, one for me, one for our collie, Frosty. At night, she'd pause at my door, watching me curled on the floor, bed surrendered to the dog. Her soft smile slipped away, wordless. When she died, grief didn't just settle - it snapped life's volume knob, leaving muted colors and static, like snow on a broken TV humming in an empty room. I bought a collie puppy, a living echo of Frosty, of my mother. I dragged her through L.A. - diners, friends' couches, hikes - chasing flickers of what felt like lasting happiness. But financial strain unraveled it all, each bill a cut deeper than the last. I tried stitching life back together with rusted thread and cheap whisky, a seamstress of sorrow with a buzzsaw heart. I left my collie with my stepmother for a brief spell. She sold her - like a $5 blender at a yard sale, just another thing to toss. No call. No warning. Gone. I stopped talking. I made art, smoked cigarettes, and let the world rot beyond my window. Nights found me alone on the porch, chain-smoking like it was the only thread holding me together. The world blurred, but the smoke gave shape to the stillness. That's when she appeared - a street dog, ribs sharp, eyes wary, creeping closer each night like she was unraveling the riddle of me. At first, she kept her distance, half-curious, half-ready to bolt. Probably smelled the rot - mustard-stained nicotine, the stale scent of a man life had kicked down too many times. For days, we sat in silence, two broken things staring at the sky. I'd light another cigarette; she'd inch closer. A silent rhythm formed - a fragile game of trust, rules scratched in ash, pieces carved from shattered glass. I'd shift to give her space; she'd edge nearer. Each cigarette burned a hole in the wall between us. Through those holes, something warm crept in - a piece of me I thought was lost, still craving connection. She showed me that even broken clocks and busted men can tick right sometimes, flipping a middle finger to time itself. One person's trash is another's treasure. In the artwork, a central figure sits defiantly on a throne-like couch, crowning herself ruler of her own chaos, forging society's rejection into raw power. Beside her, a black cat - echoing the street dog's cautious trust - sits as a symbol of earned loyalty, a stray turned treasure. Above, an oversized, angry child's face looms, confronting the inner child that once branded them "trash." Broken ≠ Worthless is an unapologetic declaration: what's cracked isn't worthless, and what's discarded can still shine. It's a messy, beautiful reminder that some things aren't meant to be fixed - just seen for what they truly are: resilient, radiant, and real https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-7pwt9-tl6fs-fp3gh-mnj6h-clm9j monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/3b16c51d-7140-435c-96b5-5fb818baf945/web-main1.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "The Cult of Summer" – Available On SuperRare I can’t stand summer. It rolls in like a grim reaper with a tan, swinging humidity and sunshine like a meat cleaver. The air turns thick, sticky - like breathing through a mold-rotted rag - and suddenly everyone’s joined a cult of sun worshippers, chanting the gospel of “good vibes” under that leering, golden stare. Warm weather isn’t a mood for me; it’s an insane asylum. Stepping into the humidity is like wading through a swamp of regret, my skin screaming in revolt. People gush about escaping winter’s chill, but my soul wilts at the first daisy’s bloom. No reverse sun lamp can trick my brain into craving crisp, overcast days - I’m trapped in this oven season, stewing in sweat-soaked dread. The real sting is the isolation. Summer’s a sacred festival, and if you don’t buy the hype, you’re the glitch. Friends squint at me like I’m broken when I ditch their picnics or lake days, pushing “give it a chance” like an intervention ambush. As if UV rays could rewire my brain. I’m not defective - I just don’t find joy in roasting alive while forcing a grin. Your melanoma trail run is my personal hell; I’d rather barricade myself indoors, tweaking a recipe or lost in a book, the A/C purring at a glorious 62 degrees. While you’re chasing tans, turning into leather handbags and mosquito buffets at your eerie picnic, I’ll be here, shades drawn, sipping iced coffee like it’s liquid sanity, counting down to autumn. Don’t stop inviting me - I want to hang - but pitch a dim coffee shop over a sweltering barbecue. I’d rather not bleed sweat onto my plate or fend off sunburns and bugs. Summer might be your holy season, but for me, thriving is cooler, darker, and entirely my own. https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-7pwt9-tl6fs-fp3gh-mnj6h-clm9j-spr5s monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/8bd55974-8022-4372-891b-29dad33de99c/small.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "LOOK UP" – SOLD No one looks up from their phone anymore. We live inside our screens until something finally snaps us out of them. In the artwork, that “something” is a surreal woman dropping small glowing orbs from the sky, giving a gentle cosmic shove that forces a couple to glance up at the same moment and actually see each other. It’s a love letter and a warning wrapped into one. I watch adults walk into poles, trip over curbs, and almost get flattened by buses because they’re reading a “life-changing quote” stolen from some dead philosopher and reposted by a 22-year-old life coach selling $99 mindset courses. Instead of taking a breath and looking at the world in front of them, the excuse is always “I’m too busy.” Busy doing what? Learning from a stranger online that you’ve been peeling bananas wrong? That’s why the piece looks the way it does. The world inside the image is a surreal, playful diorama with cereal-box buildings, shampoo-bottle skyscrapers, and broccoli trees. It’s a fun, playful reflection of the world we already live in. It’s the version you’d notice if you weren’t glued to a glowing rectangle. Reality is weird, bright, stupid, funny, and alive, but you only catch any of it if you’re actually paying attention. Look up because there’s an actual world happening. Half of us would walk straight into a tiger if Google Maps didn’t scream TURN LEFT. We treat it like it’s normal to ignore real humans standing right in front of us. If aliens landed tomorrow, nobody would notice until they opened a TikTok account. I’m not asking you to throw your phone off a bridge. I’m saying pocket it for ten minutes and let your brain bump into reality. You might feel alive. Not in a spiritual “find your purpose” way, but in a simple I live on Earth way. That’s the heartbeat of the piece: fun, romance, and a reminder hiding inside it all. LOOK UP https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-7pwt9-tl6fs-fp3gh-mnj6h monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/bbf72f9c-0282-4f2a-9ed2-fef293f36f46/web-cat-cyberpunk.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Neon Diaries" – Available On SuperRare Neon Diaries is a visual metaphor - every artwork I create is born from a personal story, much like ink spilled in a private journal. But unlike hidden pages, my art lays bare my deepest thoughts for all to see. In Neon Diaries, she is surrounded by floating electric monitors. Each glowing screen reveals a distinct futuristic journal entry - a metaphor for the way all my artwork tells stories. And this piece, in particular, explains how I came to that style of creating. Los Angeles was my cage at 32 - a hollowed-out wreck clawing through a divorce that carved me raw. I woke with too many teeth clenched, like I’d been chewing glass in my sleep. My insides screamed like a kid locked in a hot car. Fraud. Failure. Not enough. My digital canvases became battlegrounds - surreal fever dreams where I bled jagged truths too sharp for words. Not with brushes, but with wounds. Each piece a confession, a cracked map through my madness, glowing like a pulse in the dark. Then life tore the frame apart. I was ripped from LA’s neon hum and dropped into the sweating, broken heart of Guatemala - a backwater hell that stank of sour earth and lost hope, where every alley felt like a trap. I’d crammed my life into a storage unit: grainy VHS tapes of birthdays and first loves, dog-eared photos from better days, my mother’s things - recipes scrawled on napkins, coffee-stained journals, Spanish textbooks laced with her penciled notes, like soft whispers trying to reach me. She was torn from me in my late 20s, taken in a violent, shattering way I still don’t speak about. Those scraps were my last hold on her. Then came the call. A freak accident. A cruel twist. The unit - gone. Erased. Losing it was like watching her die again. In Guatemala, I was an uninvited permanent visitor, stranded in a language I didn’t speak, drowning in cheap whiskey and rage that burned like fever. Grief didn’t arrive like a poem. It came like a riot. One night - half-drunk, half-dead - I cracked open a crate of dusty old laptops. And there she was. In the neon glow of a ‘98 digital piece, her smirk sliced through the dark like a knife. In a warped figure from ’99, I heard her humming - off-key, over a pan of burnt meatloaf. Every surreal pixel pulsed with her: the late-night talks while she meal-prepped, her laugh - loud, reckless, enough to light up a room. I’d been painting her all along. Not to escape the pain - but to keep her breathing. Like this story, I can transform myself back in time without photos or videos - just by looking at an older piece of work. Neon Diaries expresses those ideas in an abstract, surreal way. Each screen, each image, each color is a timestamp burned in memory - a way back https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-7pwt9-tl6fs-fp3gh-mnj6h-b88la-lllk7 monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/2fa3e11a-1038-40f8-91ce-023f0ef0d7e5/never-forgotten-heaven-angels-art.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Never Forgotten" – SOLD ‘Never Forgotten’ is a profoundly personal artwork that captures the enduring bond between a mother and child, transcending the boundaries of life and death. Inspired by Mary Elizabeth Frye’s poignant poem ‘Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep,’ this piece explores themes of loss, memory, and spiritual connection, offering a heartfelt reminder that love endures beyond the physical world. The artwork depicts a woman sitting alone on a serene beach, accompanied by an empty chair—a poignant symbol of the loved one she has lost. Surrounding her are ethereal silhouettes of angels, their presence representing the unseen forces that guide and comfort us in times of grief. Above the clouds, heaven is visible, serving as a beacon of hope and the ultimate reunion beyond this life. This piece also draws deeply from my personal journey of loss, shaped by years of introspection and quiet contemplation. In moments of solitude, as I sat smoking cigarettes, I often felt a warm, inexplicable sensation in my hand, as if my mother’s spirit were reaching out to comfort me. Leaves fluttering in the wind became a sign—a subtle but powerful reminder of her presence. ‘Never Forgotten’ invites viewers to reflect on their own experiences with grief, offering solace and hope through its imagery. The beach, a place of solitude and reflection, becomes a metaphor for the space where memories and emotions converge. The angels and the vision of heaven remind us that our loved ones remain with us in spirit, their love imprinted on our hearts forever. https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-7pwt9-tl6fs monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/c27499f3-514a-466f-a689-13b9dbc218b8/shed-your-skin-art-piece.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Shed Your Skin" – Available On SuperRare "Shed Your Skin" is a tapestry of storytelling and symbolism, woven with hope and defiance. I am Surreal24seven, born in the vibrant pulse of New York City, where its rhythmic energy and beauty shaped my soul. But life shattered when my father’s factory - our family’s livelihood - was violently seized by thieves in Guatemala. Stranded, I survived on $2 an hour working in a hostel, confined to a cockroach-infested room the size of a closet, its faint WiFi my only lifeline. For six years, I didn’t leave that windowless space, strangers drifting past like shadows. There, in isolation, art became my rebellion - a surreal cry against a world that tried to break me. "Shed Your Skin" mirrors my story in a woman whose skin bears butterfly and caterpillar tattoos - each etched line a wound of survival, a map of rebirth. She sits in a glass box, echoing my years of seclusion, her laptop casting a soft glow of plans for a new life in Chicago. Suitcases beneath her pulse with the promise of that move - a chapter yet to unfold. A cat on her lap, fierce and untamed, embodies the spirit that defies confinement. Outside, a restless street hums with strange, unfamiliar faces - a world I’ll need time to navigate after years alone. Billboards flare with surreal visions - snakes coiling into new forms, butterflies weaving a woman’s dress, their vivid imagery murmuring transformation, urging her onward. Above, a vast starry sky unfurls, its shimmering expanse a beacon of hope beyond her walls. A surreal anthem, echoing the relentless fight to reclaim one’s life and hope - for those rebuilding from ruin. It’s about confinement, yes - but more about escape. "Shed Your Skin" reminds us: even in the darkest box, transformation is possible. And sometimes, that spark of change is all we need to begin again!!!! https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-2we32-3p6xp-3a743 monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/40a42e04-0d83-4971-ba55-ed92549b7dcc/smallweb-finished-teddy-bears.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Playing With the Dead" – Available On SuperRare At first glance, this piece feels chaotic, surreal, cartoonish – but like a memory, it’s layered. This is a story about a memory – about the ghosts we’re told to bury becoming the ones who shape us. A quiet opera for the emotionally maimed. In junior high, I met an older girl – let’s call her TB. We were young and foolish, which is to say: perfect. Our connection was innocent – two kids slamming into each other’s loneliness. We filled the empty spaces with cigarettes, belly-laughs, and endless conversations. The kind of words that melt hours, that stitch you into someone else’s breath. Jane Says droned on her battered cassette deck – our unofficial anthem. The soundtrack to dirty mall pizza, ashtray afternoons, and the reckless hope only adolescence can invent. Like all beautiful things cursed by youth, it didn’t last. My parents sat me down – “She’s unstable,” they said. “You’re forbidden from seeing her!” Forbidden? What a delicious word. What is this, freakin’ medieval times? I wasn’t their plow mule chained to the family crest. So I turned my speakers into gravestones and cranked Jane Says till the cones bled – played it for a year straight. Loud enough to make the walls remember her, even if no one else would. In the artwork, the central figure – myself – is cracked like shattered glass, each fracture tracing the loss of connection. Inside, fish swim through murky, memory-filled waters I’ll never drain – symbols of emotion left unspoken, still drifting. That grief shaped me, and it shaped the art. Later, as the years thickened and I became the kind of man who walks with his eyes half-closed, I kept chasing her shadow in the bodies of other women, trying to prove something – to my parents, to myself: See? She wasn’t a monster. That struggle bleeds through the piece. Caution tape snakes across the scene like a crime scene – like a warning, though memory doesn’t obey. Bubblegum bubbles conceal sad faces. Neon graffiti whispers Remember Me, while teddy bears float with Xs for eyes. A quiet “fuck you” to anyone who asks if I’m okay. And behind the main character, a young cartoon version of me stares out, wide-eyed and broken, forever marking the moment I was forced to let TB go. When I say I’m playing with the dead, I don’t mean ghosts. I mean the younger version of me who never got to say goodbye. https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-2we32-3p6xp-8z6aj-msyyb monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/3e6f75bb-5889-485b-ac4e-569631310696/changes-woman-violin-art.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Changes" – SOLD "Changes" – This artwork captures the essence of personal transformation through the intimate connection we share with music. When I was 20, "Miss Misery" by Elliott Smith was the song that marked a pivotal shift in my life. I remember hearing it in a small, intimate venue, the raw emotion in Smith's voice resonating with my own feelings of uncertainty and longing for something more. It was then I decided to move to Los Angeles, drawn by the dream of becoming an actor. The song's melancholy melody seemed to echo through the vibrant, sunlit cityscape behind the violinist in "Changes," each note pushing me towards a life filled with auditions, dreams, and endless possibilities. In the artwork, the woman playing the violin sits amidst a backdrop of a city skyline, symbolizing the bustling life of LA that awaited me. Her flowing hair and the dynamic action of playing the violin represent the energy and movement of change, much like how I felt propelled forward by the music. Once in LA, the city was both my stage and my teacher, a place where every corner held a story or a chance. However, the true revelation came during a road trip to Vegas, with "Like a Rolling Stone" by Bob Dylan playing through the speakers. The open road, much like the falling papers in "Changes," felt like a shedding of past layers, revealing something new with every mile. The artwork's depiction of papers falling away to reveal the night sky mirrors this journey of self-discovery, where the bright day of my old life gave way to the profound, starry night of new understanding. The journey was about embracing change, about understanding that the road to self-discovery is as winding and unpredictable as Dylan's lyrics. Every stop, every new person I met, was a scene in my unfolding narrative, one where I was both the scriptwriter and the protagonist. The collage of newspaper clippings in the artwork, with the word "CHANGES" repeated, signifies the constant evolution and the media's portrayal of change, much like how my life was being rewritten with each new experience. Now, whenever I hear "Miss Misery" or "Like a Rolling Stone," I'm not just listening to music; I'm revisiting those defining moments. "Miss Misery" takes me back to the vulnerability and courage of starting anew in LA, its chords intertwined with the city's promise. "Like a Rolling Stone" recalls the sense of liberation on the road, the shedding of an old self for the unknown. "Changes" isn't merely art; it's a testament to how music can guide us through our transformations, from the brightness of new beginnings to the reflective beauty of the night sky, showing that every change, every adventure, is a note in the melody of our lives. https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-descriptions/blog-post-title-one-9ll4b-7pwt9-tl6fs-fp3gh-mnj6h-b88la monthly 0.5 2026-03-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/57931958-34d1-4d10-b7f7-a985f8d05fe5/will-dance-for-food-artwork.jpg THE STORIES BEHIND THE ART - "Will Dance For Food" – SOLD ‘Will Dance For Food’ is a poignant 1/1 artwork that delves into the themes of hunger, inequality, and the stark disconnect between privilege and need. The title, an ironic plea for sustenance, underscores the desperation faced by those whose basic needs go unmet, contrasting the frivolity of abundance with the harsh realities of deprivation. This piece is deeply personal, inspired by my time working at a hostel in Guatemala, where I earned just $2 per hour. Guests would often leave behind delicious food, yet I witnessed a striking inequality: two individuals were tasked with distributing leftovers, but they never offered any to me, despite my clear need. Even humorously hinting at my hunger was met with indifference. This experience became a visceral reminder of the disparity between those with excess and those who suffer in silence. The artwork also draws inspiration from Shigeru Mizuki’s profound words: ‘I feel the most sorry for the ones who starved to death. I’ll never get over that feeling.’ This sentiment echoes throughout the piece, reflecting the raw and often overlooked reality of starvation. It highlights the chasm between casual complaints of hunger and the devastating experience of true deprivation. ‘Will Dance For Food’ transcends my personal story, touching on universal themes of inequality, societal neglect, and the human condition. It challenges viewers to confront their perceptions of hunger and to question the empathy—or lack thereof - that shapes our responses to those in need. https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-sold-nfts daily 0.75 2026-03-18 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/ef212fde-b7ba-4f48-86e3-825d6d68e36b/cyberpunk-woman-wires-disconnect-surreal-art.jpeg NFTs SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/f095497e-962a-4216-9e1d-d03cb044aca1/surreal-art-cyberpunk-android-woman-sad.jpeg NFTs SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/46591ef6-dc61-469f-bd07-d4cb3db79890/surreal-art-woman-face-tree-branches-tattoos-acid-psychedelic.jpeg NFTs SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/d8101d9b-0358-44df-a391-47a45658c3c7/woman-holding-mirror-waves-crashing-bed-surreal-art.jpeg NFTs SOLD 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https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/819dea6c-6e88-4d3f-a2ae-039ddbd96342/small-nw.jpg NFTs SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/041b14e3-3a69-4051-bd78-8fb8750e04c8/small-the-waiting-room.jpg NFTs SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/8bd55974-8022-4372-891b-29dad33de99c/small.jpg NFTs SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/db59b920-6aac-400d-ad82-9f956c881611/small-web-touch-grass-finished.jpg NFTs SOLD https://www.surreal24seven.com/surreal-art-for-sale daily 0.75 2026-03-17 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/ec835235-878a-49a5-aed3-ddc0d66df38f/smaldesire.jpg AVAILABLE ART Burning Desire She saw straight through the polished mask I’d spent years perfecting in the mirror - the careful, guarded version I sold to the world. And I saw her the same: the raw, unguarded self she kept locked behind quick subject changes and deliberate silences. Neither of us had any intention of letting someone in this deep after the wreckage of our pasts we’d survived. Our inner punk kept screaming don’t soften - a private rebellion that held the whole damn world at arm’s length. But those quiet nights rewrote the rules. Her eyes locked on mine and refused to let go. The old instinct to flinch kicked in… and I didn’t look away. She didn’t deflect when the questions cut personal. Every crack in our paper armor let in more light, and once the light touched those hidden places, there was no sealing them shut again. We were daring each other to stay - to let the paper armor catch fire and burn away until the real skin underneath finally showed itself unapologetic in the light. That’s exactly what this piece is about: the raw essence of a love that refuses compromise - an anarchic bond that liberates rather than confines. The lovers, bound in paper-mâché armor, ignite flames that peel away their defenses, revealing the vulnerable, authentic selves beneath. In that exposure, love becomes rebellion, stripping the masks worn to survive and laying bare what’s been hidden for so long. Their surreal, long tongues intertwined - a symbol of fears overcome and now fused in love. Scattered through the background, punk quotes and imagery echoed our mental landscape - the constant internal monologue that rejected our inner fear. Framing it all, the sunset with piercing rays turns what could feel harsh into something romantic in the punkest sense. If fear had won, we'd remain strangers to ourselves and each other. Never silence the inner punk - it’s the only path to the love that refuses to compromise. . ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/4b16dc9c-fa2b-482a-bf6c-21eb572424d6/small-done-wanted.jpg AVAILABLE ART Stolen Kiss My first real kiss happened right against the front window of a restaurant. Everyone inside eating could see us. I was too young to know what I was doing, and it came so suddenly my mind didn’t even have time to catch up. I’d imagined kisses from movies. Effortless. This was the opposite: nervous, clumsy, teeth and noses colliding. We kept breaking apart because we couldn’t stop laughing, the sound muffled against each other’s mouths. Between the laughs, we played this quiet, ridiculous game. Mid-sentence one of us would lean in and steal the last word with a kiss. It felt silly in the best way, like we’d stumbled onto something private and entirely our own. Nothing was graceful about it, but that unguarded mess made it feel real. Afterward, I replayed the whole thing endlessly in my mind. A small secret we’d just uncovered together. Even now, years later, a kiss still feels stolen in the gentlest way. Unexpected, like a quiet gift. It might come mid-sentence, turning ordinary talk into something intimate. When lips meet and everything narrows to warmth and breath, nothing else is there. Each time brings that familiar soft tingle, a spark of childlike joy that lights up inside, no matter how old I get. That’s the feeling I wanted to hold onto in “Stolen Kiss” The title comes from the same quiet disbelief I still get. A moment so vivid it feels slightly unreal. To do it, I mixed abstract digital painting with photorealistic elements. Dreamlike brushstrokes dissolve into lifelike people, the way a kiss can feel both physical and a little unreal. Two bodies, but the feeling drifts somewhere closer to a dream. In the middle of smoke and rushing trains and wanted posters peeling from the walls, these two figures take a quiet moment together, simple and unguarded. Worth every clumsy risk. ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/d842ba2b-c9d1-4b5f-a8f9-6e517277548f/smallcarnival1111.jpg AVAILABLE ART Life Is A Carnival Ride Society could collapse tomorrow - aliens finally landing, lasers carving up the skyline - and I’d still be standing there, mid-shower, wondering: Did I soap both armpits, or did I just zone out again? Just like the main character in the art piece: blank stare, completely detached while the carnival erupts around her. We share the same permanent half-state: one foot sunk in daydream, the other dragging through whatever this reality pretends to be. Starting every morning already drowning in self-absorbed nonsense is exhausting. Maybe it’s not sparks of creativity. Maybe I’ve quietly gone crazy. (They say the truly insane never suspect a thing - so that’s comforting.) That same restless uncertainty in my mental state is mirrored in her tattoos: in the artwork, they come to life as animated figures acting out inner conflicts, turning static ink into a vivid symbol of how nothing inside the mind ever stays certain for long. I wake up already pissed off. Impressive, considering nothing’s happened yet. That alone should qualify as a talent. Step outside: same kid licking the same pole, different day, zero evolution. I see it. I’m not blind. I just don’t engage. Headphones on, no music - just silence as my only reliable force field against the rest of humanity. That same desperate armor shows up in her tattoos: the black flies swarm - decaying thoughts and intrusive ideas that have escaped her mind. No break from the brain. Ever. And just like my headphones try to block the world, “MOM” and “DAD” rise small from her arm ink, trying to protect her from the flies (bad thoughts). I move through life like this: weird shit everywhere, people losing their minds in slow motion, reality doing backflips in the background - yet the buzzing never lets up, so I retreat deeper into my private mental studio apartment with blank walls. A huge, stupid smile spreads across my face. Life’s a boxing match I never agreed to. (Shown by the red boxing tape on her gloves and the red marks scattered across her body—paint splatters... or blood?) I duck the punches from reality while everyone else lines up for the carnival ride like it’s the main event - welcome to the carnival nobody requested but everybody paid full price to enter. I stay in my own world with my rules. That’s how you don’t get sick: stop fighting the spin. Lean into it. Laugh when it jerks sideways, smile through the dizziness - because stopping isn’t an option. Life imitates art. And the carnival never closes. ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/736d764f-e0d6-42be-b4dc-62b9ac9e19eb/banner-voodoo.jpg AVAILABLE ART Drugs, Prayers, and Distractions This work is a cracked mirror held up to the world I’m breathing in - the one where I’m standing on the edge of my own sanity, watching everyone else step cheerfully off the cliff ahead of me. The Matrix reality-versus-illusion argument is dead. Most people would rather stay blissfully plugged in. We’ve slipped into a full-blown Twilight Zone episode where the patients overpowered the orderlies and now the lunatics are running the asylum. My work isn’t speculating about some dystopian tomorrow. It’s the present, exactly as it hits - waiting for the next distraction, coping mechanism, or ritual to drip-feed a sense of purpose. Everyone looks stripped down and slightly feral to me, piecing together their mental health like a jigsaw puzzle missing half the pieces. They rummage through the spiritual flea market - black cats, shattered mirrors, vision boards, astrology apps - desperate for anything that feels like a cheat code to meaning. It isn’t faith. It’s panic-shopping for hope. This is why I created the figures dancing around the fire in symbolic ceremony. Each glowing symbol lifts into the dark like a prayer tossed upward with crossed fingers. When the spiritual mall closes for the night, the coping mechanisms take over. The main character smokes an opium pipe, releasing purple smoke that stands in for every form of escape. Drugs. Alcohol. Food. Netflix. Binge. Relax. All of it aimed at the same thing - softening the weight of staying conscious. None of it is joy. It’s just trying to survive another night without taking the full hit of being awake. Beyond the main character, the background moves into extremes. Protesters stand holding picket signs where blunt contradictions are left naked. Beneath a bleeding goat, two dolls drink its blood like communion wine. It’s my exaggerated artist statement of what the world looks like when fear overrides reason and belief hardens into obsession. Created through layered digital collage, photographic manipulation, AI generation, and meticulous lighting passes, this work confronts the seductive numbness of consumption culture, the commodification of pain and outrage, and the hollow prayers we offer just to make it through another day. Making the piece became its own coping mechanism - binging time inside the work from the moment I wake until I fall asleep, giving myself a pause, a breath in and out, a brief release from the noise. Decadent apathy wrapped in vibrant, unsettling beauty. ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/70df9b89-ddec-450b-9e3d-63fe21fd2429/small-dear-empty-2026.jpg AVAILABLE ART Dear Emptiness I write this, though it hurts to do so. We’ve been inseparable for too long, and yet I feel suffocated by your presence. You’ve taken up more space than I have to give. I need a little time apart, even if just briefly. ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/abfd4eb7-f1fa-4270-9db9-2a38c891185a/web-toe.jpg AVAILABLE ART https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/3b16c51d-7140-435c-96b5-5fb818baf945/web-main1.jpg AVAILABLE ART The Cult of Summer I can’t stand summer. It rolls in like a grim reaper with a tan, swinging humidity and sunshine like a meat cleaver. The air turns thick, sticky - like breathing through a mold-rotted rag - and suddenly everyone’s joined a cult of sun worshippers, chanting the gospel of “good vibes” under that leering, golden stare. Warm weather isn’t a mood for me; it’s an insane asylum. Stepping into the humidity is like wading through a swamp of regret, my skin screaming in revolt. People gush about escaping winter’s chill, but my soul wilts at the first daisy’s bloom. No reverse sun lamp can trick my brain into craving crisp, overcast days - I’m trapped in this oven season, stewing in sweat-soaked dread. The real sting is the isolation. Summer’s a sacred festival, and if you don’t buy the hype, you’re the glitch. Friends squint at me like I’m broken when I ditch their picnics or lake days, pushing “give it a chance” like an intervention ambush. As if UV rays could rewire my brain. I’m not defective - I just don’t find joy in roasting alive while forcing a grin. Your melanoma trail run is my personal hell; I’d rather barricade myself indoors, tweaking a recipe or lost in a book, the A/C purring at a glorious 62 degrees. While you’re chasing tans, turning into leather handbags and mosquito buffets at your eerie picnic, I’ll be here, shades drawn, sipping iced coffee like it’s liquid sanity, counting down to autumn. Don’t stop inviting me - I want to hang - but pitch a dim coffee shop over a sweltering barbecue. I’d rather not bleed sweat onto my plate or fend off sunburns and bugs. Summer might be your holy season, but for me, thriving is cooler, darker, and entirely my own. ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/c27499f3-514a-466f-a689-13b9dbc218b8/shed-your-skin-art-piece.jpg AVAILABLE ART SHED YOUR SKIN "Shed Your Skin" is a tapestry of storytelling and symbolism, woven with hope and defiance. I am Surreal24seven, born in the vibrant pulse of New York City, where its rhythmic energy and beauty shaped my soul. But life shattered when my father’s factory - our family’s livelihood - was violently seized by thieves in Guatemala. Stranded, I survived on $2 an hour working in a hostel, confined to a cockroach-infested room the size of a closet, its faint WiFi my only lifeline. For six years, I didn’t leave that windowless space, strangers drifting past like shadows. There, in isolation, art became my rebellion - a surreal cry against a world that tried to break me. "Shed Your Skin" mirrors my story in a woman whose skin bears butterfly and caterpillar tattoos - each etched line a wound of survival, a map of rebirth. She sits in a glass box, echoing my years of seclusion, her laptop casting a soft glow of plans for a new life in Chicago. Suitcases beneath her pulse with the promise of that move - a chapter yet to unfold. A cat on her lap, fierce and untamed, embodies the spirit that defies confinement. Outside, a restless street hums with strange, unfamiliar faces - a world I’ll need time to navigate after years alone. Billboards flare with surreal visions - snakes coiling into new forms, butterflies weaving a woman’s dress, their vivid imagery murmuring transformation, urging her onward. Above, a vast starry sky unfurls, its shimmering expanse a beacon of hope beyond her walls. A surreal anthem, echoing the relentless fight to reclaim one’s life and hope - for those rebuilding from ruin. It’s about confinement, yes - but more about escape. "Shed Your Skin" reminds us: even in the darkest box, transformation is possible. And sometimes, that spark of change is all we need to begin again!!!! ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/f3190903-6d31-46ce-a4bc-8e5dcb5903a5/web-one.jpg AVAILABLE ART STEP ONE Everyone has a little murder tourist in their head. I’m stuck behind some grotesque human at the deli, chewing like a cow with a broken jaw, and for half a second my brain calmly suggests smashing his face into the counter. I don’t do it. I smile. I wait. I pretend I’m not mentally timing the swing. Or I pass a pet store and lock eyes with those sad, blinking hostages sealed inside their glass coffins. In seconds I’m ripping cages open, alarms screaming, a full jailbreak in progress. Suddenly I’m leading a Disney parade of liberated animals down the street. Jazz hands. Show tunes. I play the whole scene in my head, feel the adrenaline spike. I exhale. The fantasy fizzles. I keep walking like a normal fucking human. Harmless. Just brain static. Everybody does it. If they say they don’t, they’re either lying or heavily medicated. Those fantasies got louder when life got smaller. Back in Beverly Hills, everything looked perfect. My private house with an elevator, marble bathrooms, a jacuzzi. I had money until I didn’t. I wasn’t qualified for much, but I knew fish from taking care of a 300-gallon aquarium at home, so I ended up managing the fish department at Petco. Minimum wage. Pulling up in a BMW convertible felt like performance art. I still choke laughing about it. The housekeeper back home made more in a week than I did in a month. Everything then slid. I landed in a small town in Guatemala. Locals saw the bodyguards, the apartment, and assumed cartel money or trust-fund royalty. The truth was the opposite. A steep drop. Harder living. Thinner air. I never whined about what I lost. I wore the quiet, tough-guy mask. Like a movie character who never mentions his backstory. My past buried under six feet of “don’t ask.” Inside, though, the daydreams were oxygen. They were the place I still had control when the world felt like it was laughing with a knife at my throat. This artwork captures the imagined aftermath of one of those bigger, darker fantasies: the perfect heist. On the TV, the bank burns in breaking news Against the wall, past-due bills ignite in careless flames. No worry if the whole place catches. Who cares? It’s a daydream. Cash scatters across the bed like blood money confetti, whiskey close at hand, glass sweating in the dim glow. Torch the problems. Sit untouchable in the glow for one delusional, glorious second before reality kicks the door back in. Look, this shit’s normal. I have to believe it is, or I’m the psycho. Imagination’s the only free therapy we get. It lets me process the rage, rehearse flipping the script, or just steal a goddamn breath when life’s got its boot on my neck. Splashing these feral thoughts onto the digital canvas? It’s release without felonies. No real blood. No real cops. Just the sweet relief of letting the monster stretch its legs for a minute before I lock it back up. ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/40a42e04-0d83-4971-ba55-ed92549b7dcc/smallweb-finished-teddy-bears.jpg AVAILABLE ART Playing With the Dead At first glance, this piece feels chaotic, surreal, cartoonish – but like a memory, it’s layered. This is a story about a memory – about the ghosts we’re told to bury becoming the ones who shape us. A quiet opera for the emotionally maimed. In junior high, I met an older girl – let’s call her TB. We were young and foolish, which is to say: perfect. Our connection was innocent – two kids slamming into each other’s loneliness. We filled the empty spaces with cigarettes, belly-laughs, and endless conversations. The kind of words that melt hours, that stitch you into someone else’s breath. Jane Says droned on her battered cassette deck – our unofficial anthem. The soundtrack to dirty mall pizza, ashtray afternoons, and the reckless hope only adolescence can invent. Like all beautiful things cursed by youth, it didn’t last. My parents sat me down – “She’s unstable,” they said. “You’re forbidden from seeing her!” Forbidden? What a delicious word. What is this, freakin’ medieval times? I wasn’t their plow mule chained to the family crest. So I turned my speakers into gravestones and cranked Jane Says till the cones bled – played it for a year straight. Loud enough to make the walls remember her, even if no one else would. In the artwork, the central figure – myself – is cracked like shattered glass, each fracture tracing the loss of connection. Inside, fish swim through murky, memory-filled waters I’ll never drain – symbols of emotion left unspoken, still drifting. That grief shaped me, and it shaped the art. Later, as the years thickened and I became the kind of man who walks with his eyes half-closed, I kept chasing her shadow in the bodies of other women, trying to prove something – to my parents, to myself: See? She wasn’t a monster. That struggle bleeds through the piece. Caution tape snakes across the scene like a crime scene – like a warning, though memory doesn’t obey. Bubblegum bubbles conceal sad faces. Neon graffiti whispers Remember Me, while teddy bears float with Xs for eyes. A quiet “fuck you” to anyone who asks if I’m okay. And behind the main character, a young cartoon version of me stares out, wide-eyed and broken, forever marking the moment I was forced to let TB go. When I say I’m playing with the dead, I don’t mean ghosts. I mean the younger version of me who never got to say goodbye. ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/bbf72f9c-0282-4f2a-9ed2-fef293f36f46/web-cat-cyberpunk.jpg AVAILABLE ART Neon Diaries Neon Diaries is a visual metaphor - every artwork I create is born from a personal story, much like ink spilled in a private journal. But unlike hidden pages, my art lays bare my deepest thoughts for all to see. In Neon Diaries, she is surrounded by floating electric monitors. Each glowing screen reveals a distinct futuristic journal entry - a metaphor for the way all my artwork tells stories. And this piece, in particular, explains how I came to that style of creating. Los Angeles was my cage at 32 - a hollowed-out wreck clawing through a divorce that carved me raw. I woke with too many teeth clenched, like I’d been chewing glass in my sleep. My insides screamed like a kid locked in a hot car. Fraud. Failure. Not enough. My digital canvases became battlegrounds - surreal fever dreams where I bled jagged truths too sharp for words. Not with brushes, but with wounds. Each piece a confession, a cracked map through my madness, glowing like a pulse in the dark. Then life tore the frame apart. I was ripped from LA’s neon hum and dropped into the sweating, broken heart of Guatemala - a backwater hell that stank of sour earth and lost hope, where every alley felt like a trap. I’d crammed my life into a storage unit: grainy VHS tapes of birthdays and first loves, dog-eared photos from better days, my mother’s things - recipes scrawled on napkins, coffee-stained journals, Spanish textbooks laced with her penciled notes, like soft whispers trying to reach me. She was torn from me in my late 20s, taken in a violent, shattering way I still don’t speak about. Those scraps were my last hold on her. Then came the call. A freak accident. A cruel twist. The unit - gone. Erased. Losing it was like watching her die again. In Guatemala, I was an uninvited permanent visitor, stranded in a language I didn’t speak, drowning in cheap whiskey and rage that burned like fever. Grief didn’t arrive like a poem. It came like a riot. One night - half-drunk, half-dead - I cracked open a crate of dusty old laptops. And there she was. In the neon glow of a ‘98 digital piece, her smirk sliced through the dark like a knife. In a warped figure from ’99, I heard her humming - off-key, over a pan of burnt meatloaf. Every surreal pixel pulsed with her: the late-night talks while she meal-prepped, her laugh - loud, reckless, enough to light up a room. I’d been painting her all along. Not to escape the pain - but to keep her breathing. Like this story, I can transform myself back in time without photos or videos - just by looking at an older piece of work. Neon Diaries expresses those ideas in an abstract, surreal way. Each screen, each image, each color is a timestamp burned in memory - a way back ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://www.surreal24seven.com/digital-art-portfolio daily 0.75 2026-01-25 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/ec835235-878a-49a5-aed3-ddc0d66df38f/smaldesire.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Burning Desire - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/4b16dc9c-fa2b-482a-bf6c-21eb572424d6/small-done-wanted.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Stolen Kiss - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/d842ba2b-c9d1-4b5f-a8f9-6e517277548f/smallcarnival1111.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Life Is A Carnival Ride - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/9efdde73-960a-4ebf-91d6-582d71e7bf25/smalll-finshed-voodoo.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Drugs, Prayers, and Distractions - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/8bd55974-8022-4372-891b-29dad33de99c/small.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven LOOK UP - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/2abd55be-d6e7-460b-889d-fc70f855f911/punk-art-piece-description.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven PUNK - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/abfd4eb7-f1fa-4270-9db9-2a38c891185a/web-toe.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven She’s Got Sole - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/3b16c51d-7140-435c-96b5-5fb818baf945/web-main1.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven The Cult of Summer - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/57931958-34d1-4d10-b7f7-a985f8d05fe5/will-dance-for-food-artwork.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven WILL DANCE FOR FOOD - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/c90a50f2-e7a5-42bf-8ed4-cc5abd47199d/color-your-world-art-piece.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Color your world! - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/70df9b89-ddec-450b-9e3d-63fe21fd2429/small-dear-empty-2026.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Dear Emptiness - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/f3190903-6d31-46ce-a4bc-8e5dcb5903a5/web-one.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven STEP ONE - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/819dea6c-6e88-4d3f-a2ae-039ddbd96342/small-nw.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Midnight Can Wait - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/edb08943-78e8-40ca-a47a-6f83f41ff915/not-broken.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Broken ≠ Worthless - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/041b14e3-3a69-4051-bd78-8fb8750e04c8/small-the-waiting-room.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven The Waiting Room - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/db59b920-6aac-400d-ad82-9f956c881611/small-web-touch-grass-finished.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven TOUCH GRASS - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/40a42e04-0d83-4971-ba55-ed92549b7dcc/smallweb-finished-teddy-bears.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Playing With the Dead - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/c27499f3-514a-466f-a689-13b9dbc218b8/shed-your-skin-art-piece.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven SHED YOUR SKIN- Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/8e1e2ea4-867b-4bb7-a5a2-4b4cd94fb1d7/searching-for-a-sign-artwork.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Searching for a sign - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/81843177-7140-4ccc-951b-558fcfef9b02/childhood-fantasy-cotton-candy-clouds-artwork.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Cotton Candy Clouds - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/a4b1b859-6dcf-4839-90c8-8dffa420307c/mother-nature-artwork.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Mother Nature - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/8f191c69-d55a-4161-9a10-b731d1033b56/punk-bunny-artwork.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven bunnie - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/3e6f75bb-5889-485b-ac4e-569631310696/changes-woman-violin-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven CHANGES - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/bbf72f9c-0282-4f2a-9ed2-fef293f36f46/web-cat-cyberpunk.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Neon Diaries - Available on SuperRare ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/aede1fc8-7aec-417c-90e7-c5a116aeafd1/graceful-ballet-woman-sky-cloud-alone-above-city.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Serene Isolation - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/e0f4865c-5a2b-4345-8297-4cb28951bc40/commissioned-work-dog-heaven.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Commissioned Work https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/e2e3ae32-7b3d-4b75-b957-32177cc2a871/rat-meat-party-artwork.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven You are cordially invited to my party! - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/ce3a2560-fdac-4a61-9ad2-19d3dd2e126d/sad-woman-city-sad-hearts-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven LONELY HEARTS CLUB - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/3f02d990-25d3-42ce-b4d7-5adbce9e9a1f/alice-in-wonderland-wrong-story-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven I'm in the wrong story! - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/3f2db477-9d4e-4c3e-a087-e7dad41867ae/satirical-inferno-surreal-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Satirical Inferno https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/2fa3e11a-1038-40f8-91ce-023f0ef0d7e5/never-forgotten-heaven-angels-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Never Forgotten - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/72e29dd0-12b6-4208-a237-e4a1f39a23ef/pop-surreal-tattooed-woman-pilot-art.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Not Your Princess (Pilot) - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/967a0fb4-ee6d-45c6-ba1a-579508a7023b/keeping-the-dream-alive-woman-smoking-bathtub.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Keeping the dream alive - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/895c9354-ec39-48d2-85b0-1d1ba7058bf6/420-weed-woman-marijuana.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven 420 - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/78cdb667-375a-4484-b47f-cdf46286d025/surreal-art-cyberpunk-bike-wheels-ferris-wheel.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Surreal Bicycle - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/fbb81913-b4da-4c31-840a-21cff143b2eb/web-toys-11.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Echoes of Funland - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/243e86c5-64ab-4edb-9125-ff6330e3934f/surreal24seven-sweet-conclusion-toy-gun-candy-art2.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Sweet Conclusion v2 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/9346ef40-05b4-4aba-9873-2e17578ed304/woman-eating-fruit-man-surreal-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Givers and Takers - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/71ddfa47-b869-44f0-bd80-a22c1e8d9fb5/pop-surreal-tattooed-woman-biker-art.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Not Your Princess (Biker) - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/9c1645a7-07e1-4541-af7b-b06fede48db7/surreal-art-fan-art-peaky-blinders-old-fashion-town-cocaine.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven LET IT SNOW - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/66de492d-4098-4f33-ba89-a9c6e173f0d5/surreal-art-storm-huge-waves-woman-calm-sand-castle-mansion.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Surreal Reality - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/fe214af3-f0c8-4f16-a816-47dbaeff4390/house-opposites-day-night-drunk-people-tanning-surreal-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Night & Day - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/7623afa2-8a39-4ea1-b2a4-f5c973a3777d/surreal-woman-dress-created-from-leaves.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven HOPE - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/85117f11-4872-49a7-aada-102507cff17b/surreal-woman-red-flowers-falling-raindrops.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Emotional Intelligence - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/e6025133-7281-4411-913b-22d75ff079fd/surreal-woman-aging-playing-piano-room-jungle-abandoned.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Patience - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/ee7899fb-b0d9-497f-8090-b8e4ee5e3886/art-woman-mask-body-cake-surrealism.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven The Giver - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/6f7cdfbd-f455-48b3-a39e-7826453603c4/surreal-art-scary-people-dark-child-red-city-billboards-wake-up.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven WAKE UP - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/2ca9e419-fa68-469c-b23c-9899db079fbe/surreal-woman-dress-creates-ocean-waves.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven That Dress - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/f2f40809-a8ce-4f86-825f-1b6aeaeb8dae/crazy-annie-im-annie-bitch-britney-spears-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven I'M ANNIE BITCH - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/7acd2d10-206e-4ff4-9207-bffa090fdaaa/surreal-art-alice-dorothy-older-bathroom-drugs-oz-wonderland.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Alice & Dorothy - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/ef212fde-b7ba-4f48-86e3-825d6d68e36b/cyberpunk-woman-wires-disconnect-surreal-art.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven DISCONNECTED - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/7f479d0e-452a-42f8-b521-2e86ad127912/woman-kissing-frogs-prince-charming-surreal-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Finding Prince Charming - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/2320fada-f481-41bc-ac9b-d6b78b7e146d/tattooed-goth-snow-white-menacing-animals-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven No Apples Allowed! https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/8c3f8a5e-0f32-4dc0-bc5b-4257b115c9dd/surreal-hand-boxing-gloves-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Surreal Boxing - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/01d0a6c9-e2e0-419f-b2ee-f418a6342d37/surreal-woman-alone-sky-clouds.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Happiness in solitude - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/b091c501-ccae-41b2-81df-ff96d00d10d2/surreal-disgruntled-postal-worker-woman-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Goin’ Postal - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/26c54123-8e21-414d-ba9d-85e19ec9516a/surreal-art-large-woman-snow-cocaine.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven SNOW - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/341376c9-9a65-4fe0-b9a5-5fde9cf6273f/surreal-art-woman-rags-costume-flowers.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Colorful Life - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/d8101d9b-0358-44df-a391-47a45658c3c7/woman-holding-mirror-waves-crashing-bed-surreal-art.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Weathering The Storm - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/c4f7f27b-f368-4387-8fce-5abafc4f95e6/art-woman-winter-beach-window-surrealism.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Surreal GM ☀️ https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/5f91071e-5b3a-4ff1-9ddf-4902d34417f9/surreal-art-cheetah-spots-tornado.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Surreal Cheetah 1 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/51212841-f288-445b-8fed-7a2ac6f1b621/humorous-dalmatian-bus-spots-surreal-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Give me my Spots back HOOMAN https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/ea6b5cae-8906-4d6f-8b71-ad2526703514/surreal-art-jellyfish-woman-body-ocean-city.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Surreal Ocean https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/130148e3-301c-43a2-ae84-448f3a59b750/dog-in-heaven-lake-reflections-day-night-surreal-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven RIP RILEY https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/30f0bf8e-ea65-454b-aee5-01ceabfaedae/art-woman-island-aloneness-surrealism.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Absence of Light - SOLD https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/71d48860-10e0-49a9-933f-9a21d9329608/art-woman-lake-slow-death-surrealism.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Slow Suicide https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/5dc46e9a-6486-4903-9601-f7dc0cfb51d6/child-raft-lake-balloons-phobias-relinquishing-surreal-art.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Phobias Relinquishing https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/5ebd6c8b-467d-4139-835f-9b79acc707fe/beauty-and-beast-surreal-fan-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Beauty And the Beast https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/31596758-ab30-4d2a-98aa-ea29333d62e3/surreal-art-spring-winter-dog-cat-opposites.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Surreal Opposites https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/af1e91f5-18be-40f2-bf2d-e1129603091c/surreal-art-sad-woman-park-bench-pigeons-poop.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Oh POO https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/a10ad78d-02b3-458c-aa9a-8e2924232024/surreal-woman-violin-wind-artwork.jpeg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven Weather the storm https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/06e3f701-df39-40e3-8134-453694dc5304/humorous-medusa-surreal-art.jpg Surreal Art Portfolio by Surreal24seven it's not you. it's me - SOLD https://www.surreal24seven.com/about daily 0.75 2026-03-21 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/c27499f3-514a-466f-a689-13b9dbc218b8/shed-your-skin-art-piece.jpg https://www.surreal24seven.com/contact daily 0.75 2026-01-25 https://www.surreal24seven.com/artvisionnft daily 0.75 2023-05-20 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/8c0dfac8-bafb-4282-85ed-2bd11423672a/surreal24seven-featured-artvisionnft-newsletter.jpg https://www.surreal24seven.com/home-1 daily 1.0 2026-03-22 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/2abd55be-d6e7-460b-889d-fc70f855f911/punk-art-piece-description.jpg HOME Abstract art image depicting two stylized figures made from scraps of paper facing each other in profile, with long red tongues intertwined. A background of cityscapes, a street lamp, and collaged text surrounds them. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/51ab5cde-cae7-44fb-bb0f-cc2f3b20b7e1/will-dance-for-food-artwork.jpg HOME Vibrant neon signs in a city setting with humorous titles like 'Pita Pan,' 'Planet of the Grapes,' and 'Frying Nemo.' Street scene includes a dancer holding a 'Will Dance for Food' sign and people dining outdoors. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/81843177-7140-4ccc-951b-558fcfef9b02/childhood-fantasy-cotton-candy-clouds-artwork.jpg HOME Whimsical cotton candy stand with striped awnings against a pink sunset sky, featuring a girl in a dress and a cat surrounded by fluffy flowers. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/82ec550a-0eb9-4648-94ec-370ce38c0f9d/mother-nature-artwork.jpg HOME Surreal artwork features a woman with octopus-like hair, tattoos, and a black gown holding a watering can over a baby carriage with tentacles emerging from it; ornate wall decor in the background. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/ec835235-878a-49a5-aed3-ddc0d66df38f/smaldesire.jpg HOME Burning Desire ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/d842ba2b-c9d1-4b5f-a8f9-6e517277548f/smallcarnival1111.jpg HOME Life Is A Carnival Ride ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/c90a50f2-e7a5-42bf-8ed4-cc5abd47199d/color-your-world-art-piece.jpg HOME https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/8bd55974-8022-4372-891b-29dad33de99c/small.jpg HOME A vibrant collage featuring a giant stylized woman's face with white hair and multiple eyes, surrounded by colorful elements like rainbows, a rainbow-colored bottle, a bird, a tree, and buildings. In the foreground, two people sit on benches in a city park, with sparks and lights around them, and various signs and posters on the buildings. https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/4b16dc9c-fa2b-482a-bf6c-21eb572424d6/small-done-wanted.jpg HOME Stolen Kiss ➡ Click to Buy on SuperRare https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/abfd4eb7-f1fa-4270-9db9-2a38c891185a/web-toe.jpg https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/edb08943-78e8-40ca-a47a-6f83f41ff915/not-broken.jpg https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/736d764f-e0d6-42be-b4dc-62b9ac9e19eb/banner-voodoo.jpg https://www.surreal24seven.com/my-process daily 0.75 2026-03-21 https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/6172ea431cd441205ac91cd0/d842ba2b-c9d1-4b5f-a8f9-6e517277548f/smallcarnival1111.jpg